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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426917">Panda Express</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapadlock/pseuds/Mochapadlock'>Mochapadlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeremy and Michael's Lovey-Dovey Antics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, an unofficial date night, bigfoot hunters, food tw, it's also pouring rain outside, it's sorta short, they're past the whole squip thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:20:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapadlock/pseuds/Mochapadlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One soggy, school-day evening, Michael comes over to visit and eat some Panda Express. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeremy and Michael's Lovey-Dovey Antics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Panda Express</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hullo! I thought that I would submit this short fic to tide y'all over until my next one. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jeremy opened the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael immediately rushed towards him, arms wrapped his body in a tight grip. Michael snuck his face in the crook of the other’s neck, breathing in a faint vanilla scent. After a minute, he pulled back to peck his lips on the other cheek, both giggling. Jeremy closed the door and stood awkwardly, waiting as Michael slipped off his crocs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good idea to wear socks with crocs today.” he joked, unrolling his knee-high socks that were slightly damp. The house was dim tonight, cloudy skies bundling up and a drizzle beginning to fall and coat the windows with a blurry layer of condensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>you that it would rain today!” Jeremy chastised, leaning against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to be fashion-forward!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Socks and sandals are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.” he shivered, thinking back to when his dad wore white dress socks with beach flip-flops. He eventually took the socks off, but the memory would forever be etched in his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ex-</span>
  <em>
    <span>cuse</span>
  </em>
  <span> you! These crocs were high-end and expensive! I’m gonna flex ‘em as much as I can!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve bought some birkenstocks at the same price.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried</span>
  </em>
  <span> those things? It’s like wearing slabs of concrete on your foot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy chuckled, “Fine, fine, you got me. You and your fashion sense win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so.” he grinned, sweeping his crocs and socks to the side. There was an orange warmth in the house, the hallway lights illuminating their way into the kitchen, where a couple more lights were on. On the table sat a bag, spots of red in the translucent plastic. Michael looked side to side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He went upstairs.” Jeremy answered, already anticipating the question. “He said he wanted to leave us alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot, that’s nice of him. Did he think this was a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told him that it wasn’t, but he said something like, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jeremy’. Pff, at least we have more food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They surrounded the circular dining table, Jeremy’s dad leaving a few paper plates before he retired upstairs. Michael struggled to separate two of them while Jeremy untied the tightly knotted bag. After Jeremy assisted Michael and he in turn ripped open the bag, like a mukbang, they unfolded the red boxes, letting the steam release from the cartridges of food. One by one, the six boxes were showcased. Jeremy reached into the orange chicken, before getting his hand slapped away by Michael’s. “Wash your hands before you dig in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pff, fine.” Jeremy shook his head and dug through the plastic bag. Plastic utensils, hot sauce, and soy sauce, fell into a disarrayed pile. When he found the fortune cookies, he sat it aside like a pirate’s bounty. When all was finished, they stood back and marvelled in the glory: boxes of chow mein, orange chicken, and walnut shrimp had its greasy shine under the yellow light. “Let’s dig in!” Jeremy exclaimed. He leaned over the table, straight for the orange chicken, before being interrupted by Michael once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeremy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Michael chastised, and Jeremy bashfully backed off. “Er, right.” he stuttered. After washing their hands — </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Jeremy, 20 seconds!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> — they approached the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy dug into the orange chicken first, the prongs of the flimsy plastic fork nearly snapping after he attempted to skewer three fat pieces of chicken onto his paper platter. Michael used a plastic spoon to scoop out pieces of walnut shrimp before forfeiting the utensil in favor of a fork. “Can you pass that when you’re done?” Jeremy asked, pointing at the chow mein box in Michael’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” he agreed, making quick work to plop a sizable amount of noodles onto his plate, and then passing it over to Jeremy. “Thanks!” Jeremy beamed. He scooped half the amount that Michael had, then he scooped up some fried rice. Considering the steamed veggies, he plopped a measly two broccoli pieces onto his platter, dwarfed by the other foods. On the other side of the round table, Michael struggled to open a hot sauce packet, opting to use his teeth after much hassle. He squirted half the packet on his chow mein. “I’ve never tried their hot sauce before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? It’s like, mega spicy, so you shouldn’t put too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?” Michael challenged, and squirted the rest of the packet onto the dish. “I’ll be the judge of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> is gonna be hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I’ve had my fair share of spicy sauces. I’ve had those novelty sauces in the back of Spencers — the ones with skulls on ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know there are Simpsons hot sauces? They’re really shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like food poisoning in a bottle. Hey, how do you know Panda Express’ hot sauce is not that spicy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s simple, Jere — fast food brands would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>challenge its customers. These so-called ‘hot sauces’”, he used airquotes, “are hecka weak-sauce. The spiciest I ever had was maybe at Popeyes — but even then, it was nothin’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me how it goes, then.” he shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy eyed the packets, and instead made a split decision. “Actually, I’ll tell myself, uh, how it, er, goes. I’ll have the hot sauce too, I mean.” Jeremy squirted the packet onto the plate, right over his orange chicken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got everything you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Do you wanna watch some TV? I think there’s a new episode of Bigfoot Hunters on TV tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both padded over to the faux leather couch. While they originally sat a couple cushions apart, Michael inched closer with his legs until he sat criss-cross with his plate of food in his lap right next to Jeremy. “Shit, I forgot a fork.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got it.” Jeremy offered, setting his plate down and swiftly grabbing a pair of utensils alongside the remote control. They sat at the sofa, turning on the TV, seeing what would be on this late afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this point, the jumble of clouds outside rumbled with anticipation, a downpour starting to drench the roof over them. It wreaked havoc on the patio outside, heavy pitter-patter hitting the outside chairs and table. Jeremy looked out the window and winced at the furniture, silently thankful he and his dad removed the cushions before the rain started. However, alongside this rain, the house’s temperature started to get colder. The kitchen tile turned into a mild chilliness alongside his sole. The leather couch cushions were cold too, to both of their chagrin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, I’ve got somethin’.” Jeremy proclaimed, setting his plate on the table and hurrying up the staircase to his room. When he came back, he had two thick duvet blankets slung over his shoulder, like a superhero who’s come to save the day. Michael grinned, and Jeremy threw one of them onto the couch beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had these stashed for when it got cold — I </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> take my weighted blanket, but that thing weighs like 50 pounds — hey!” Jeremy cried, throwing the other blanket on top of the other, and examining the plate he left on the coffee table. “Did you eat one of my chicken pieces?” he accused the other boy, who was already giggling when he shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you little — you owe me a piece!” Jeremy exasperated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s tons of it on the table, dude!” Michael countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but then that means I’ll have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>walk </span>
  </em>
  <span>back and open the box and get a new fork and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, go on, take one.” Michael conceded, and held out his plate from his lap. Using the fork that was already on the plate, he stabbed one piece and popped it in his mouth, snootily chewing in front of Michael. “There. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-maybe.” he muttered in-between bites. “Take a blanket before I ask for more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael chuckled but agreed, opting for the thick sky blue duvet. His plate sat on his lap without dirtying up the linen. Jeremy followed suit, legs sat on top of each other as he wrapped the blanket tight around himself. Finally warmer and less stiflingly colder than before, hot plates of food in their laps, Jeremy flipped through channels until it landed on Bigfoot Hunters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopping in the middle of an episode, two men were trekking the woods. The camera had a green filter overlay, with only the noises of their panting and bush rustling. “Dude, look!” the camera man pointed to the side, camera zooming into a tree’s peephole. The other man investigated closer, reaching with a hand inside. The two men felt around the tree, much to Jeremy’s confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bigfoot isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> small, right?” Jeremy asked, eyebrow high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think Bigfoot isn’t big.” Michael mused, mouth full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was waving his arm around in big circles in the tree trunk. With an overblown expression, he yelled, “Dude, dude, I think it got me!” he began to flail around, his babbling obviously alerting other forest critters. Both boys chortled at the faux discovery, laughing harder when an owl dove down onto their heads while they fled the forest towards their jeep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>During commercial break, Jeremy fanned his mouth. “Damn, this hot sauce </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> is hot, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doin’ fine, dude. I told you you shouldn’t’ve put that whole packet of hot sauce on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you didn’t!” he cried, getting up and pouring himself a glass of milk. “At least the orange chicken was good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if your taste buds are burnt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut it!” he jovially barked, and Michael guffawed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The TV binging continued for a while, even after their plates were emptied for a second time. The night sky became dimmer by each passing moment, pale blue atmosphere only making Jeremy’s eyelids heavier, dozing off a few times during the episode. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Michael nudged Jeremy. He shook slightly more before Jeremy wiped off a piece of loose saliva off of his chin. “Wha-what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Usually, Jeremy would argue that it was too early, but the combination of a full stomach and terrible Bigfoot hunting only drew him into a sleepy stupor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started to get up, leaving the warm spot they made with shivers. Setting the duvets aside, Jeremy grabbed Michael’s paper plate and dumped it into the plastic trash bin while the other boy closed the food boxes and collected the dirtied up napkins. When the living room was looking like it was before their cuisine, they started up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are ya sure your dad will be okay with me staying over?” Michael meekly asked, but still followed Jeremy up the staircase. “It’s fine if you want me to go home.”</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Do</span></em> <em><span>you</span></em><span> wanna go home?” Jeremy stopped, turning his head back.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh, no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you can stay over.” he confidently stated.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Ok, cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reached the top of the stairs, flanking a turn to the left towards his bedroom. “Ah shit, forgot.” Jeremy cursed, turning around before twisting the knob. “Could you grab the blankets downstairs?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael agreed, and swiftly went downstairs while Jeremy went to the other end of the hallway, peeking a head inside his dad’s room. He was lounging in his bed, reading glasses on, tucked in with a book in hand. Breaking him out of his intent reading, Jeremy spoke, “Hey, Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Jeremy?” his dad asked, looking up from his pocketbook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it fine if Michael stays the night?” Jeremy asked with an apologetic smile. An eyebrow quirked, his dad nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine — but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> cooking breakfast tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What—ah—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just kidding. Go ahead and sleep in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you. Uh, night?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night. Don’t make too much noise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just kidding!” he chuckled at his son’s rising blush. “Seriously, have a good night. There’s a heater in the laundry room if it gets too cold.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good. Thanks, Dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem. Night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he went back to his room, the door was wide open and Michael was making blanket angels on Jeremy’s bed. “So…who’s sleeping on the floor?” Jeremy climbed on top of him, excusing the one blanket that fell off as he laid his body on top of Michael’s, head resting in the nook of his neck. “Uh oh, there’s only </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>bed.” Jeremy rebutted, sending a hysterical fit of laughter from the curly-haired one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, lemme remove this.” he began to remove his red sweatshirt, tossed alongside a pair of cargo shorts. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Michael without pants on, but Jeremy always kept his eyes glued on him. He began to remove his shirt and pjs, Michael poking his tummy once, chuckling. The tiny knick knacks on his desk were ushered away with a flat hand, making room for Michael’s glasses and bracelets, alongside one of the bracelets he gave to Jeremy. Michael made sure the blankets were laid out neatly on the bed, picking up the blanket that fell, and created the small nest of blankets and pillows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo — brush your teeth.” Jeremy tossed a toothbrush in Michael’s hands, something he fumbled before picking it up from the ground. “Oh, sorry!” he apologized, but Michael smiled as a ‘no worries’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t use this toothbrush yet, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew — of course not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After sharing the bathroom mirror, and one by one washing out their mouths, it was finally time for after-hours. The rain didn’t let up, the same spattering of raindrops hitting the window, the all-too familiar sound they’ve been hearing for the past few hours. The warm atmosphere had both boys soothed, the warm heat emanating from their bodies feeling more comfy than stuffy. Earlier, Michael lit a candle from Jeremy’s bookshelf, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mahogany Teakwood</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and placed it next to the TV set. They both laid on the bed, Michael idly scrolling Twitter while Jeremy burrowed his face in his chest. “I just haven’t felt this…relaxed in some time. School’s got me buggin’.” came his muffled words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buggin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tired as hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jeremy looked up and gave a weary smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, school’s really gotten alot out of ya.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled lightly, “Pff, yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> that orange chicken. Takes a lot of energy out of a man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy pulled up the weighted blanket to his chest, and felt Michael sigh, content. The candle’s fuse started to flicker out as the pumpkin aroma spread around the room, lulling the two in a slumber. The rain dwindled down to a light splattering of drops.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope y'all enjoyed! Hehe, no hints towards the next fic this time. We'll see...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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